WARNING!!.....This is a Long, long story that I am working on...it will change often.
They had dragged the boats up on the beach and turned them over, excepting the round bellied merchant knorr. It was left with its anchor stone a few hundred yard off shore, for she held valuable commodities and enough supplies to sustain the three ship loads of hungry men.
"Stay awake Biar! You're not in Sig-tun any more boy." Gundred a shaggy brown haired man growled the words like bear-cat even as he looked around in wonder.
This place didn't seem much different than the deep forests of the Uppland. Thick under growth climbed a steep slope, blue and emerald fir trees dripped an early morning dew. Rans-breath he liked to call it. But it felt different here, like another world. Gundred sensed a palpable energy to this place as if he could reach out and take a hand full of it. Kneeling he took a stone from the forest floor, it spoke to him, he could hear the ages pass, he knew how it came from the highlands, born down an ancient tumbling river to rest for a time under its ancient flow, when the land shifted under prim-ordeal forces it came to rest on a small grassy plain for awhile, and when the sea rushed in it was pushed up onto this small island. He cast the stone away startled, and slightly confused.
Ahead of them a hundred yards or so, Jarl Voromund had called a halt, The secondAthelinga of Uppland his dark hair starting to turn blue ever so slightly but his large frame still straight and solid. His men were raising his sail cloth tent and preparing oil lamps against the oncoming night. They would make an encampment here, and there would be a day or two of discussion while the bones where read and minds were spoken. Jarl Voromund commanded three ships, two long dragon-ships and a round merchant vessel he used for supplies, to keep his warriors well fed and sated. He always sailed with a quantity of sweet mead that his old vater fermented each year.
Gundred raised a ham fist and the small group of men trooping behind him came to halt. He was not their leader but as usual theign Ovarsen was already at Voromunds' heels, no doubt kneeling and offering to clean his royal beard, but the men listened to him and if there was a second in command of the Orn it was Gundred.
"Biar! Grenden!" Gundred barked at the two barely grown men. "You boys see about some dinner. And remember Voromunds order. No burning the wood of this place, where we are is sacred to some. It's whale oil if it's heat you need.
The Serpents Tongue was flying now, a red flag faded to orange and a bit tattered on the wind-edge, made of some fine cloth from the far side of the world, Voromunds standard, a single rune stood out on its surface, a cool pale blue.
The witches shelter was up too, leather hides stitched together and stretched over an A-frame, a cauldron hung at the entrance end, three whale oil lamps arranged beneath it, heating water for her divine purpose and the traditional animal bones hung from the oar poles rattling as the old mother moved within.
Biar busied himself lighting his own oil lamps. Fish would be the fair for this night, it would fry in whale fat with a bit of shriveled onion and they would have mead from the ship and Aldgar would bring milk from the cow Voromund kept on the Cork, his round merchant vessel.
It was not long and the smell of other fishes frying began to drift through the mostly set up camp. They were to cut no wood, so a palisade would not be built and they were told it was just as unwise to dig a ditch.
Grenden had the small canvas wedge tent that he, Gundred and Biar would share and he was gazing at the Jarls' small circle of tents, ten wedges arranged so that the openings were facing out and toward the center. Sail cloth had been fastened between them forming a wall of triangle shapes and providing shelter from sun and rain in the spaces between. There were three tents for the Karls. Ovarsen had his next to Voromunds son Ingwe, The Jarl had two tents of his own, and his friend the Skald slept in another, that left one for supplies or whatever the Jarl traveled with. The witch emerged from her temporary abode and Grenden stared harder trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious old woman. As usual she was draped in a hooded brown cloak and all he could see were the runes sewn into the thick wool. They were done in red, Grenden recognized Odin's eight and Freja's eight around the neck line, the rest were combinations of those same letters, bind runes, and he didn't care to know their secrets. She was tall and didn't seem to be stooped like he thought an ancient soothsayer should be, and neither her cloak or her tent showed any sign of dirt or raggedness, in fact their seemed to be a certain neatness about her that was unsettling to a rough boy like him.
"Do you think there are dragons here?" Biar's voice was thin in the cool evening air, as he said it the witch turned and gazed their way but she did not seem to be looking at them, she stared above them and out toward the sea that was a thin ribbon seen only through one patch tall fir trees. Biar turned to look and saw that she gazed at a large sea-eagle rising above the tree line, silhouetting its self against an early half moon. It fell swiftly to disappear to it's smorgus-board.
"Of course there are said Grenden. That's why we sailed here. Isn't it?"
Biar Thought for a bit before saying. "But they say Wiglafs-theign slew the last one."
At this Gundred, dropped his arm load of oar's which Grenden would use to build more a-frames for the rest of the tents and chuckled slightly.
"Nooo boy." Gundred chuckled again. "There are no dragons here. "Yer bound to hear the men talking I expect. But there are no dragons here. We've only come to ask questions. But I know Voromund and if we are after dragons I expect its the hoard he wants and not the dragon its self. Now don't ye breathe a word of this to any one, you boys, or ye'll feel the flat side of my ax along side yer head." Gundred didn't mean it but it paid to maintain a fierce attitude, not only when dealing with boys, but when handling the rough men that sailed the dragon-ships.
So where are we? Biar asked plopping a piece of fish into the hot whale oil. "I know by the sun that when we left Dublin we sailed mostly east. The forest around him was thick with a thousand shades of green. As he gazed around forest animals peered back at him, or slipped through undergrowth on their hidden trails.
Gundred took a seat, digging in a large pouch he had slung across his shoulder and produced a rough map that he had kept over the years. The map was old passed down from his old-father. It was Roman, and one could see where place names had been added or changed over the years. He pointed to the coast of Britannica which they had been following, tracing an approximate coarse south eventually swinging west following the curve of the land, his finger soon rested some where on an isle next to a place called Gwynned. The name Ongull's Island hand been written across it in Old Norse
From behind them came a gentle but power full voice. "You are correct. We have landed in the realm of the Gwynned. We are on an Island, but not Ongull's Island. While you slept we slipped around that island and have landed on another island simply call Holy Head." It was the sooth-sayer, she had slipped up unnoticed behind them and now sat gracefully on the ground, joining their small circle.
She was beautiful. So fetching that Biar began to feel a strange things. Odd sensations that he had never felt before. She had the pale iris that darkened at the outer-rim and there was indeed an other worldly quality to her gaze as if she were looking through you at something or someone that occupied the same space as you.
Her garment was rich and of high quality, broidered with runes as Grenden had marked earlier. Her fiery hair was in a tight braid as one would expect a sea going maiden to do. And her lips were thin but they bowed in such an attractive way that it was hard for Biar not to stare at them.
"We are in search of a faerie queen The Lady of Apples. She holds power in the mortal world in these islands. They are hers and are sacred, she is considered the voice of The Mother and is to be listened to in all things. Fortunately will not need to cross into Aelfheim to meet with her. Even so eat or drink nothing of this place and take nothing you were not offered when we leave this place." Inga's voice was power full and gentle, it held a certain magic and each word was formed with a smile as if she enjoyed the shape of the words she spoke. Again Biar felt a tingle in his stomach, and it quickened when her gaze passed across his face. He felt it go hot and his mouth was suddenly dry.
Grenden affected in much the same way stammered what was on his mind. This was Grendens way, never thinking before speaking. "But you...you...you're not old at all!"
"Come on Grenden. Let's get these shelters set up. We'll need them for a few days." He let this out in a rush of breathe and stood rapidly.
Gundred, twisting his long rusty beard around his fingers gave a warning about being cautious and keeping there eyes open. "There is magic in this place." He said.
At this Inga gave him a sharp look. She too arose with an elegant motion and drew her cape about her. "You will speak with me tomorrow Gundred from Sigtun. Bring those two boys you're nephew is of interest to me."
The sun was mostly down and the three small camps were set and settled. Oil lamps burned as bright as any fire and the rude jokes and laughter of Jarl Voromunds fighting men carried across the small meadow where they had set there tents. Sometimes a forest creature would join the party, its animal voice chittering or howling in the night.
Grenden was using a bone needle to stitch a rip in his trews. Gundred had his book out and was scratching at the page. his 'Saga' he called it. He was often laughed at for carrying it around. The men could find anything to joke about and most of them could not read beyond recognizing the pattern of certain runes. But any time one of the men did something remarkable they looked to Gundred to see if he had paid attention, perhaps hoping there deed would be put down in the foreign runes he used. Often they called on him to read from it, and a few of them were doing so now. One offered a piece of silver and another a horn of mead. Gundred would have read for free, but he was not above accepting the gifts of givers.
"Lets have the one about when we was in Hedeby." This was Grumm a large Dane, blond, and hugely strong. He had Jotun blood in him there was no disputing that. He was slow of speech but not a fool. More than once Gundred along with two or three other men had sought him out in the shield wall were they would be best protected. Grumm liked those pages because he was mentioned there.
Gundred leafed through to a section that was made of vellum and began his diatribe. The sailors of the Orn gathered around filling each others horns and cups with mead. Thirty five battle hardened, explorers.
So it was was that we came to Hedeby
With the light of Sol Hard on our heels
There to gather more grain and meat.
Our empty barrels and skins to fill.
Spear-Theign Voromund
Stout Ovars-son,
Biar the Young and Grenden.
Grumm of Lund
And some men from Skane.
Sixteen stout hearts
I too was one.
With Rans-breath thick on morning sun
The hearty men a madness met.
An ax-dance worth the spear-grooms price.
A gruesome beast from out the ice.
Huge Grumm, with ax blade singing
Gave a blow to split the skull
A war song in his throat was ringing
The Troll-kin lost a toe.
Three men of Skane, mothers-shame
Ran for the bobbing ships
One is dead and two lie lame
With troll-bite for their fame.
A Greedy fist now bearing down
Towards the Jarls silver crown
Oh monstrous hammer of whoa!
Voromund held his ground.
A cold bright gleam his spear ran clean
He pierced it through the lean.
Staggering forward it bent
Grumms' ax came through its neck.
Yet still it lived!
A fearsome beast nine cold toes.
Then Ovars'-son took his blow
The bloody strike that cracks the spine
And the Troll-wives filled with whoa.
Forest creatures and laughing men were the background for Gundreds' snoring as the boys crawled into bed, a pile of warm fur and wool blankets. Trying to make him-self sleep Biar
They had dragged the boats up on the beach and turned them over, excepting the round bellied merchant knorr. It was left with its anchor stone a few hundred yard off shore, for she held valuable commodities and enough supplies to sustain the three ship loads of hungry men.
"Stay awake Biar! You're not in Sig-tun any more boy." Gundred a shaggy brown haired man growled the words like bear-cat even as he looked around in wonder.
This place didn't seem much different than the deep forests of the Uppland. Thick under growth climbed a steep slope, blue and emerald fir trees dripped an early morning dew. Rans-breath he liked to call it. But it felt different here, like another world. Gundred sensed a palpable energy to this place as if he could reach out and take a hand full of it. Kneeling he took a stone from the forest floor, it spoke to him, he could hear the ages pass, he knew how it came from the highlands, born down an ancient tumbling river to rest for a time under its ancient flow, when the land shifted under prim-ordeal forces it came to rest on a small grassy plain for awhile, and when the sea rushed in it was pushed up onto this small island. He cast the stone away startled, and slightly confused.
Ahead of them a hundred yards or so, Jarl Voromund had called a halt, The secondAthelinga of Uppland his dark hair starting to turn blue ever so slightly but his large frame still straight and solid. His men were raising his sail cloth tent and preparing oil lamps against the oncoming night. They would make an encampment here, and there would be a day or two of discussion while the bones where read and minds were spoken. Jarl Voromund commanded three ships, two long dragon-ships and a round merchant vessel he used for supplies, to keep his warriors well fed and sated. He always sailed with a quantity of sweet mead that his old vater fermented each year.
Gundred raised a ham fist and the small group of men trooping behind him came to halt. He was not their leader but as usual theign Ovarsen was already at Voromunds' heels, no doubt kneeling and offering to clean his royal beard, but the men listened to him and if there was a second in command of the Orn it was Gundred.
"Biar! Grenden!" Gundred barked at the two barely grown men. "You boys see about some dinner. And remember Voromunds order. No burning the wood of this place, where we are is sacred to some. It's whale oil if it's heat you need.
The Serpents Tongue was flying now, a red flag faded to orange and a bit tattered on the wind-edge, made of some fine cloth from the far side of the world, Voromunds standard, a single rune stood out on its surface, a cool pale blue.
The witches shelter was up too, leather hides stitched together and stretched over an A-frame, a cauldron hung at the entrance end, three whale oil lamps arranged beneath it, heating water for her divine purpose and the traditional animal bones hung from the oar poles rattling as the old mother moved within.
Biar busied himself lighting his own oil lamps. Fish would be the fair for this night, it would fry in whale fat with a bit of shriveled onion and they would have mead from the ship and Aldgar would bring milk from the cow Voromund kept on the Cork, his round merchant vessel.
It was not long and the smell of other fishes frying began to drift through the mostly set up camp. They were to cut no wood, so a palisade would not be built and they were told it was just as unwise to dig a ditch.
Grenden had the small canvas wedge tent that he, Gundred and Biar would share and he was gazing at the Jarls' small circle of tents, ten wedges arranged so that the openings were facing out and toward the center. Sail cloth had been fastened between them forming a wall of triangle shapes and providing shelter from sun and rain in the spaces between. There were three tents for the Karls. Ovarsen had his next to Voromunds son Ingwe, The Jarl had two tents of his own, and his friend the Skald slept in another, that left one for supplies or whatever the Jarl traveled with. The witch emerged from her temporary abode and Grenden stared harder trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious old woman. As usual she was draped in a hooded brown cloak and all he could see were the runes sewn into the thick wool. They were done in red, Grenden recognized Odin's eight and Freja's eight around the neck line, the rest were combinations of those same letters, bind runes, and he didn't care to know their secrets. She was tall and didn't seem to be stooped like he thought an ancient soothsayer should be, and neither her cloak or her tent showed any sign of dirt or raggedness, in fact their seemed to be a certain neatness about her that was unsettling to a rough boy like him.
"Do you think there are dragons here?" Biar's voice was thin in the cool evening air, as he said it the witch turned and gazed their way but she did not seem to be looking at them, she stared above them and out toward the sea that was a thin ribbon seen only through one patch tall fir trees. Biar turned to look and saw that she gazed at a large sea-eagle rising above the tree line, silhouetting its self against an early half moon. It fell swiftly to disappear to it's smorgus-board.
"Of course there are said Grenden. That's why we sailed here. Isn't it?"
Biar Thought for a bit before saying. "But they say Wiglafs-theign slew the last one."
At this Gundred, dropped his arm load of oar's which Grenden would use to build more a-frames for the rest of the tents and chuckled slightly.
"Nooo boy." Gundred chuckled again. "There are no dragons here. "Yer bound to hear the men talking I expect. But there are no dragons here. We've only come to ask questions. But I know Voromund and if we are after dragons I expect its the hoard he wants and not the dragon its self. Now don't ye breathe a word of this to any one, you boys, or ye'll feel the flat side of my ax along side yer head." Gundred didn't mean it but it paid to maintain a fierce attitude, not only when dealing with boys, but when handling the rough men that sailed the dragon-ships.
So where are we? Biar asked plopping a piece of fish into the hot whale oil. "I know by the sun that when we left Dublin we sailed mostly east. The forest around him was thick with a thousand shades of green. As he gazed around forest animals peered back at him, or slipped through undergrowth on their hidden trails.
Gundred took a seat, digging in a large pouch he had slung across his shoulder and produced a rough map that he had kept over the years. The map was old passed down from his old-father. It was Roman, and one could see where place names had been added or changed over the years. He pointed to the coast of Britannica which they had been following, tracing an approximate coarse south eventually swinging west following the curve of the land, his finger soon rested some where on an isle next to a place called Gwynned. The name Ongull's Island hand been written across it in Old Norse
From behind them came a gentle but power full voice. "You are correct. We have landed in the realm of the Gwynned. We are on an Island, but not Ongull's Island. While you slept we slipped around that island and have landed on another island simply call Holy Head." It was the sooth-sayer, she had slipped up unnoticed behind them and now sat gracefully on the ground, joining their small circle.
She was beautiful. So fetching that Biar began to feel a strange things. Odd sensations that he had never felt before. She had the pale iris that darkened at the outer-rim and there was indeed an other worldly quality to her gaze as if she were looking through you at something or someone that occupied the same space as you.
Her garment was rich and of high quality, broidered with runes as Grenden had marked earlier. Her fiery hair was in a tight braid as one would expect a sea going maiden to do. And her lips were thin but they bowed in such an attractive way that it was hard for Biar not to stare at them.
"We are in search of a faerie queen The Lady of Apples. She holds power in the mortal world in these islands. They are hers and are sacred, she is considered the voice of The Mother and is to be listened to in all things. Fortunately will not need to cross into Aelfheim to meet with her. Even so eat or drink nothing of this place and take nothing you were not offered when we leave this place." Inga's voice was power full and gentle, it held a certain magic and each word was formed with a smile as if she enjoyed the shape of the words she spoke. Again Biar felt a tingle in his stomach, and it quickened when her gaze passed across his face. He felt it go hot and his mouth was suddenly dry.
Grenden affected in much the same way stammered what was on his mind. This was Grendens way, never thinking before speaking. "But you...you...you're not old at all!"
"Come on Grenden. Let's get these shelters set up. We'll need them for a few days." He let this out in a rush of breathe and stood rapidly.
Gundred, twisting his long rusty beard around his fingers gave a warning about being cautious and keeping there eyes open. "There is magic in this place." He said.
At this Inga gave him a sharp look. She too arose with an elegant motion and drew her cape about her. "You will speak with me tomorrow Gundred from Sigtun. Bring those two boys you're nephew is of interest to me."
The sun was mostly down and the three small camps were set and settled. Oil lamps burned as bright as any fire and the rude jokes and laughter of Jarl Voromunds fighting men carried across the small meadow where they had set there tents. Sometimes a forest creature would join the party, its animal voice chittering or howling in the night.
Grenden was using a bone needle to stitch a rip in his trews. Gundred had his book out and was scratching at the page. his 'Saga' he called it. He was often laughed at for carrying it around. The men could find anything to joke about and most of them could not read beyond recognizing the pattern of certain runes. But any time one of the men did something remarkable they looked to Gundred to see if he had paid attention, perhaps hoping there deed would be put down in the foreign runes he used. Often they called on him to read from it, and a few of them were doing so now. One offered a piece of silver and another a horn of mead. Gundred would have read for free, but he was not above accepting the gifts of givers.
"Lets have the one about when we was in Hedeby." This was Grumm a large Dane, blond, and hugely strong. He had Jotun blood in him there was no disputing that. He was slow of speech but not a fool. More than once Gundred along with two or three other men had sought him out in the shield wall were they would be best protected. Grumm liked those pages because he was mentioned there.
Gundred leafed through to a section that was made of vellum and began his diatribe. The sailors of the Orn gathered around filling each others horns and cups with mead. Thirty five battle hardened, explorers.
So it was was that we came to Hedeby
With the light of Sol Hard on our heels
There to gather more grain and meat.
Our empty barrels and skins to fill.
Spear-Theign Voromund
Stout Ovars-son,
Biar the Young and Grenden.
Grumm of Lund
And some men from Skane.
Sixteen stout hearts
I too was one.
With Rans-breath thick on morning sun
The hearty men a madness met.
An ax-dance worth the spear-grooms price.
A gruesome beast from out the ice.
Huge Grumm, with ax blade singing
Gave a blow to split the skull
A war song in his throat was ringing
The Troll-kin lost a toe.
Three men of Skane, mothers-shame
Ran for the bobbing ships
One is dead and two lie lame
With troll-bite for their fame.
A Greedy fist now bearing down
Towards the Jarls silver crown
Oh monstrous hammer of whoa!
Voromund held his ground.
A cold bright gleam his spear ran clean
He pierced it through the lean.
Staggering forward it bent
Grumms' ax came through its neck.
Yet still it lived!
A fearsome beast nine cold toes.
Then Ovars'-son took his blow
The bloody strike that cracks the spine
And the Troll-wives filled with whoa.
Forest creatures and laughing men were the background for Gundreds' snoring as the boys crawled into bed, a pile of warm fur and wool blankets. Trying to make him-self sleep Biar
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